


Unpredictable

by smithandbarrowman



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arithmancy (Harry Potter), Butterfly Effect, Divination, F/M, didnt see that coming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 18:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithandbarrowman/pseuds/smithandbarrowman
Summary: Predictability. That's what Hermione Granger specialises in. But when it comes to her own life, she doesn't have a clue.





	Unpredictable

* * *

“_You don't find love, it finds you. It's got a little bit to do with destiny, fate, and what's written in the stars. _ ”

Anais Nin

* * *

“I don’t believe in that bullshit, Ginny.” 

Hermione was exasperated. Ginny and Pansy were goading her — she knew it — but all of their conversations of late seemed to be centred around this one topic and she’d had enough. “Fate? Destiny? The stars? Professor Trelawney would be proud of you both.”

Pansy reached across and tapped the table in front of Hermione. “Maybe if you had taken more notice in that class, instead of waving it off like the rubbish you thought it was, you would actually see that Trelawney was on to something.”

“On to what!?” Hermione’s temper was being tested and she was close to walking away. “On to the ridiculous notion that fates are decided? That the entirety of your life is mapped out from the second that a series of cells turn into a human? I thought you two were smarter than this. Nothing is predicted, _ nothing _. All it takes is a small change in one state in a nonlinear system to affect the results in a larger state.”

Ginny and Pansy stared at her blankly and she sighed. 

“It’s the Butterfly Effect,” she explained. “It's a Muggle theory which states that small events happening all around us may have larger effects in general. So, something we see as insignificant, such as a butterfly flapping its wings several weeks ago in your neighbour’s back garden, can — in theory — create a significantly different outcome in the weather today. Which means _ nothing _ is predictable, _ nothing _ is set in stone. One can certainly _ assume _ things will occur according to predictions, but all it takes is one small event to completely change the outcome.”

“Is it a magic butterfly?” Pansy deadpanned and Ginny snorted. “Because, I mean seriously, that’s one strong-arse butterfly if it can change the weather.”

“No, it’s not… it’s just an example… the theory is—“ Hermione stopped, noting the amused expressions in her friends’ faces. “I hate you both.”

They both dissolved into peals of laughter and Hermione sighed. Her life had taken an unexpected — and extremely unpredictable — turn and these two had delighted in making that unexpected turn more hellish than it needed to be.

“Hermione, you’re an Arithmancer. Prediction is what you do,” Ginny said when she finally calmed down.

“Unlike Divination, ” Hermione began tersely, “Arithmancy is not just guesswork and reading the sludgy remnants in tea cups. Arithmancy uses a mathematical approach to define the relationships between a number and coinciding events. It’s more rigorous and it has clear rules defining its use. And my current state certainly could not have been predicted by Arithmancy or by your ridiculous hocus-pocus magic.” 

Pansy smirked, her laughter had barely subsided but she looked about to burst out again. “Don't tell me you haven’t engaged these skills of yours to define the current state of your life. Or are you waiting for a butterfly to take flight and change it?” 

Ginny cracked up laughing again, and Pansy wasn’t far behind her. Hermione huffed out a breath.

“If you two are going to be this immature every time we have lunch, I’ll no longer be coming.”

“Maybe you should use your Arithmancy skills to find out if _ that’s _ in your future,” Ginny spluttered between laughs.

“My tea leaves say it’s been a while,” Pansy added, tilting her empty cup towards Hermione, and the pair were crying with laughter. 

Hermione shook her head. “This stopped being funny weeks ago. I don’t even understand why you’re talking about this. I’m not interested in him in any way. And once this job is finished, I’ll not be dealing with him again.”

“Oh, come on.” Pansy wiped her eyes, “He’s not the same person he was back then, none of us are. I’ll bet my left nipple your precious Arithmancy never predicted us.”

Hermione looked between her two friends and couldn’t help but smile. “No, Pansy. I don’t think anyone could have predicted this.”

The two women sitting opposite her had shocked everyone when they announced that they were a couple. Much like herself and Ron, Ginny and Harry hadn’t lasted more than a few months after the final battle of the war. Ginny had ended things with Harry — which was a shock in itself — with little explanation other than to tell him that she loved him, but only as a friend. 

Hermione would have loved to say she suspected her best friend was gay, but she was as shocked as anyone when Ginny first brought Pansy to dinner a year after her break-up with Harry, announcing that she had found the love of her life. And five years later, Hermione knew Ginny had been right — the pair were perfect together. But, of course, their happiness meant they were constantly after Hermione to find her own. 

And they were a formidable team. 

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Pansy folded her arms on the table in front of her. “He’s exactly your type.”

“_ My... type _ ?” Hermione spluttered. “How is _ he _ my type?”

“Intelligent, articulate, charming, and oh-so good looking.” Pansy let out a tiny sigh and Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“Should I be worried?”

“Of course not, baby,” Pansy kissed her cheek. “But, seriously, I’ve been crushing on him since I can remember.”

Ginny flung her arm around Pansy’s shoulders. “See, if Pansy can be swayed, so can you.”

“I don’t think Pansy is an authority on what’s attractive in men and what’s not.”

“Hey!” Pansy exclaimed indignantly. “Just because I prefer the female form, doesn’t mean I don’t know a completely fuckable man when I see one.”

“And the best part of _ this _ fuckable man is…” Ginny arched an eyebrow and smirked, “...he’s single.”

“How is that the best part?” Hermione asked and instantly regretted her question.

“Because, his divorce was finalised two years ago and we all know he’s not been with anyone else since. So, by now he’ll be as frustrated as hell and looking for a body to crawl inside of. And who would be better to crawl inside than the woman who is equally desperate for a man to crawl inside her?”

Hermione pursed her lips, and glared at her two friends. “This stops… now. I am _ not _ interested in him. He has hated me from the first moment he saw me, and treated me like dirt from that day. I don’t care if he _ has _ changed. I don’t care if he thinks differently now. The way he treated me, and those like me, is unforgivable.” She stood, and held her hand up as they both protested her departure. “I’ll see you both next week… on the proviso that this conversation will not continue.” 

* * *

Hermione stared at the parchment on her desk with one thought in her head; this had to be incorrect. There was absolutely no conceivable idea that she could come up with that would make what she was reading true. 

She had studied Arithmancy, had fallen in love with the structure of the discipline, with the precision, the mathematical probabilities, and the scientific process it required. But, she had also become adept in deciphering ancient runes. And that was where her predicament had begun. 

Three months prior, Hermione had arrived at her office in The Ministry and was met with a request to meet immediately with her department boss. Anticipating a job that might have been more in depth than her usual menial tasks, she was surprised to find that she was being asked to provide assistance to a private client. A client who had asked for her personally. 

Her elation and eagerness was quickly replaced by shock when the name of that client was revealed.

Malfoy. 

The name alone made her skin crawl. She had been able to forgive many rivals at the end of the war — Pansy, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott were just a few. But the Malfoys did not make her list. She despised them, and openly stated that she believed that Azkaban was where the name should be made to die out. 

But it seemed that with one piece of parchment — one simple request — her life was about to be made exceedingly difficult. 

The family had a vast library, her boss explained, in which they had recently discovered three antique volumes of Elvish runes, of which none of them were able to decipher entirely. She had been requested specifically, and while the department usually wouldn’t allow for private clients, the large sum of money they had donated — and the sum offered to her personally for her assistance — had made it difficult for her to

say no. 

She had, however, refused the request to translate the books in the Manor’s library. She would not — no matter how much money they threw at her — ever set foot in that place again. If her personal assistance was required, the books could be brought to her office and she would translate them there. 

Hermione Granger would not bend to the will of a Malfoy. 

She was surprised, however, when her demand was met without question, and she was with no further excuses as to why she couldn’t assist their request. But that didn’t change the fact that she was furious. 

Furious that the Malfoy arrogance assumed she would jump at this chance. 

Furious that she had been expected to return to the Manor. 

Furious that The Ministry was allowing this to happen.

And now, that fury had doubled. 

She was just days away from wiping her hands of these translations — she had been counting the minutes — but the parchment in front of her told her that an extension was being requested for her further assistance. Apparently, several more volumes had been discovered and the remuneration for her time had been doubled. 

Hermione could hardly believe it. But she had little time to stew.

“Ms Granger?” Her assistant’s voice sounded through the crystal ball on her desk. “Mr Malfoy is here to see you.”

Hermione took a steadying breath, she could do this. She’d been dealing with him for three months, she could tell him she wasn’t interested in working for him any longer. He could find someone else.

“Thank you, Greta. Please send him in.”

“Of course, Ms Granger, right away.”

Hermione brushed her hands over her dress, straightening the few creases with a silent charm. Despite her hateful thoughts when it came to him, she refused to look unkempt. 

The door opened and she was astonished.

“Ms Granger. Hello.”

“Draco?” 

Hermione was not expecting the younger Malfoy to appear in her office. Malfoy Senior was who she had been dealing with. 

“Father asked that I deliver these to you—” Draco indicated the four large volumes he was holding “—and he apologises for not being able to deliver them himself.”

“_ Oh _ … it’s… _ ah _, perfectly fine.” She cleared a space on her desk. “You can put those there, thank you.”

Draco smiled and nodded, carefully placing the ancient volumes on her desk. “He also asked that I tell you he will be here tomorrow to collect the first translations, if they’re complete.”

“Oh… yes, of course. They’re being bound and should be ready this afternoon.” Hermione was at a loss as to why she was nervous to have Draco in her office. His father had been the one she had dealt with, so Draco causing her to stumble over her words made no sense. She could kill Pansy and Ginny, their ridiculous conversation had thrown her, she hated being nervous around anyone, let alone a Malfoy. “I… _ ah… _ was about to send an owl to inform… your… Mr Malfoy.”

“He would have been here himself — he hates to break his commitments — but he was summoned unexpectedly this morning for his annual Wizengamot hearing.” Draco smiled nervously. 

“Oh.” Hermione wasn’t sure how to respond. She was aware that Lucius Malfoy was still under the watch of the Aurors but she wasn’t aware that he was still required to regularly front the Wizengamot. 

“He has four more years of hearings. His sentence was ten years suspended.” Draco shrugged. “He probably deserved more. I probably deserved more.”

Hermione stared at him, dumbfounded. 

“I treated you like shit, Hermione, and I’m sorry.” He nodded to the books on her desk. “I was the one who suggested that Father employ you for this; you were a genius at school, I assumed that hadn’t changed. I do apologise if this has been too much of an inconvenience.” 

“Um, thank you.” She felt her cheeks heat up at his both his apology and his compliment. “And it’s not been an inconvenience. Not at all. I’ve enjoyed the challenge, and the volumes are like nothing I’ve seen before,” Hermione lied — in part, at least. As much as she hated to deal with Lucius Malfoy, and as much as she bitched about the work, the books had been a dream to decipher. The Elvish was simple enough, but the intricate runes were old, and much research had to be done to complete the translation. 

“Well, in any case, I’m sure you’ll be glad that these books are the last. And I know Father truly appreciates your work.” 

“I’ll start on them as soon as I can.” 

“I won’t keep you then. And again, thank you.” Draco nodded and turned towards the door.

“Draco,” Hermione smiled when he turned back to her. “I meant to say congratulations. Scorpius, isn’t it?”

Draco’s own smile widened at her sentiments. “Thank you. And yes, Scorpius. He’s just… he’s perfect.”

Hermione was pleasantly surprised as Draco’s face lit up with delight at just the thought of his newborn son. It would appear that the nasty, spoiled boy who had tormented her throughout her school years had a soft side. 

“I’m surprised Father hasn’t bored you to death with pictures of his grandson.” Draco grinned. “He’s besotted.” 

“He may have mentioned him.” She remembered her shock at Lucius’ almost giddy smile when he delivered the final book — what she thought was the final book — the previous month and announced his delight at his grandson’s arrival. “I’m sure your mother feels the same.”

“Oh, she’s worse. He’s barely a month old and she’s spoiling him already.” Draco laughed, and then his face darkened slightly. “I just wish they would put aside their differences. Family photos are impossible. They won’t even be in the same room together.”

Hermione winced. She had no interest in the Malfoy divorce. She had avoided all mention of it in the papers — of which it seemed had been on a daily basis for months. She simply wasn’t interested. But, despite her constant protests, Pansy and Ginny, of course, had ensured that she was well informed. 

Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy’s divorce had been nasty, both accusing the other of infidelity. But, much to the surprise of everyone, it was Narcissa who had not been faithful. Proof emerged in the form of scandalous photos, and the images showed her in the arms of one Thorfinn Rowle — one of Lucius’ closest friends. 

Once the pictures had emerged, Narcissa and Thorfinn had fled to Italy and the divorce was finalised swiftly. 

Lucius all but disappeared from society; he was not seen again until his request for Hermione to translate his books led to her demands for him to come to her office. 

“Well, I hope one day they can be civil for your son’s sake.” 

“I won’t hold my breath.” Draco rolled his eyes and Hermione laughed. “It’s good to see you Grang… Hermione.”

“You too, Draco.” 

Hermione sat down heavily when he closed the door, leaning back in her chair and staring up at the ceiling. 

“Gah!” She groaned and flung her arms over her face. So much for telling him she wouldn’t be translating any more books for his father. Where the hell did her spine disappear to? 

Hermione Granger would not bend to the will of a Malfoy. What a joke. 

One sweet smile and an apology, and she was forgiving the swot who made her teen years hell. 

Cursing Ginny and Pansy, she shifted her gaze to the books on her desk. 

Lucius Malfoy. 

In what world was Lucius Malfoy her type? And why would they even think it? Yes, she had a preference for older men, but not in this case. Draco had tormented her, but Lucius had been worse. He had allowed her to be tortured in his own home. She’d never once considered Lucius Malfoy to be anything but the Death Eater he no longer claimed to be. 

But now, through her own doing, she was stuck yet again having to deal with him. 

And the books on her desk meant Lucius Malfoy would be firmly ensconced in her life for several more months at least. 

* * *

“I’m not certain it was wise to ask for her further assistance.” Lucius drummed his fingers on the arm of the leather Chesterfield Club chair as he sat staring out the window of the Manor’s library. He’d taken to spending his days in the vast room, the rows of bookshelves and the aroma of old parchment keeping her afresh in his mind. 

She’d begrudgingly allowed him to visit her office on a weekly basis — the books she was working on were his, after all — but the clear discomfort she displayed in his presence while she translated the first three books, kept those visits extremely short. 

“I’m not sure why you’re so concerned. She’s eager to continue helping with this, Father.” Draco handed him a snifter of cognac, before sitting opposite him in the matching chair. 

Draco’s reassurances weren’t having the calming effect he knew his son was hoping for. She’d been… professional. Not quite cold, but her demeanour was straightforward and to the point. She rarely made conversation outside the books he’d given her, the only exception was when she congratulated him on becoming a grandfather.

Hermione Granger was unlike anyone he had ever known. He was well aware of her reputation, had experienced her tenacity both before and during the war. But her ability to make his blood simmer with desire, was unlike any other woman before her.

And his upbringing, the bigoted beliefs he’d held, the purist doctrine he’d followed, all would have — at one time — placed her beneath him. And his thoughts of wanting to do anything more to her than rid her and her kind from the earth, would have been severely punished. 

But that was exactly what he wanted.

More. 

Draco had vastly understated her abilities, Lucius had seen that from the first meeting he’d had with her. And he’d wondered why it was she was wasting her time with the monotony and strict regulations of the Ministry. She was far superior to anyone in the Arithmancy department — far superior to anyone in the Ministry as a whole, in his opinion — and could easily become one of the most sought after private Arithmancers across the globe. 

Her brilliance alone was enough to have him intrigued. But the way she carried herself — the poise with which she dealt with a task she clearly wanted nothing to do with — had won him over. 

“Her eagerness may be due, in part, to her… superiors in The Ministry. I’m sure the donation for her time placed pressure on her to accept the job.” Lucius swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “She was overly pleased to be done with the first volumes. I believe the only time I saw her smile was when she informed me that the third book had been translated and she assumed her work was complete. The further request has inconvenienced her greatly.”

“She enjoys a challenge, Father, and she has assured me that she’s not thought it an inconvenience at all.” 

“That may be so but I’ll not be requesting her assistance again once she’s completed these final translations. I have caused enough grief in her life, without forcing an unwanted task on her.”

Draco tilted his head thoughtfully. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Like her? Ms Granger is doing me a great favour, it would be ill mannered of me to not be grateful for her work.”

Draco snorted. ”I’m not referring to her work, Father, I’m referring to _ her _.”

Lucius lifted his glass to his mouth, taking a slow swallow of the aged Louis XIII Cognac, and avoiding his son’s question.

“Hermione Granger-Malfoy. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” Draco’s eyes danced with delight at his father's discomfort. 

“Don’t be so juvenile, Draco.” Lucius snapped, causing Draco to laugh. 

“Oh, this is precious.” Draco leaned forward, grinning at his father. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Do about what?” Lucius averted his gaze from his son.

“Don’t be so juvenile, Father.” Draco threw his own words back at him. “It took her what, three months to translate those, right?” Draco nodded at the three books on the coffee table between them, and Lucius answered in the affirmative. “Then you have very limited time to tell her how you feel.”

“There’s no point, her utter dislike for me is clear.”

“Ah, but you do feel something for her?” 

Lucius noted the change in his son’s expression. The merriment at making his father squirm was gone, replaced with a seriousness that belied his age. 

“Whether I feel something for Ms Granger or not is irrelevant. Her feelings towards me are clear, and I will not be humiliated again.”

“Father,” Draco placed his glass on the side table and clasped his hands together, his fingers twisting nervously. “What Mother did to you was unforgivable, but you can’t let her actions control the remainder of your days. Hermione might reject you; she might even tell you quite bluntly, _no _. But I know Hermione Granger well enough to say that, if she was to reject your advances, she would not disclose your feelings to the world. She is not the type to deliberately humiliate anyone.”

“Maybe, but it _ would _be the perfect opportunity for her to repay me for my appalling treatment of her,” Lucius pointed out.

“That’s true, but unless you actually take the plunge and tell her how you feel, you will be left wondering for the rest of your life.”

“When did you grow up?” Lucius smiled at his son.

“I think it was some time between when the war ended and when my son was born.”

Lucius returned his gaze to the window and sighed. “When did this happen? When did she become this intriguing creature who I cannot put out of my mind?” 

Draco hummed in agreement. “I know that feeling, Father. I spent my school years wondering the same.”

Lucius turned back to his son, his eyebrows raised.

“Oh!” Draco laughed, “Not like that. I simply meant her ability to best me at everything kept her in the forefront of my mind.”

“Yes… that’s…” Lucius frowned. “She was at school with you…”

“The age difference isn’t _ that _ extreme.” Draco shrugged. “Don’t let it bother you.”

Lucius finally smiled, amused at his son’s nonchalance. “Are you giving me your blessing?”

“Father, if Hermione Granger is the woman who has captured your heart, I wouldn’t dare stand in your way.”

* * *

“Ms Granger?” Greta’s voice startled Hermione from the book she was pouring over. “If there’s nothing else you need...”

Hermione glanced up, her office had grown dim, save for the lamp on her desk. She’d been so engrossed in the text before her, she’d not noticed the time. 5.33 the clock read. Greta was standing in the doorway, an inquisitive smile on her face.

Hermione wasn’t surprised at her assistant’s expression. 

Lucius Malfoy sat opposite her, had been sitting opposite her for several hours. The low glow of the _ Lumos _ charm he had cast was the only indication he was still there. They’d both been silent — she lost in concentration deciphering the text, he quietly reading the translations she’d completed. And, in all honesty, Hermione had forgotten he was there. 

Lucius glanced up at her, an easy smile gracing his face. The comfortable armchair he now sat in — having obviously transfigured the simple office chair — clearly indicated he wasn’t bothered that she’d forgotten him. The warm light of the charm — allowing him to read in the dim light of her office — softened his face in a way she’d not thought possible. His features took on an appearance of strength, rather than the sharpness she usually saw. His eyes crinkled in that sweet way she loved.

She stared at him. _ That sweet way she loved? _

Where had that come from?

Greta’s discreet cough pulled her gaze from the smiling man in front of her, and Hermione noted that her assistant’s inquisitive smile turned into a knowing grin.

“Oh… _ ah _ , thank you, no. You can go, Greta. I have nothing further for you to do.” Hermione’s voice was formal — _ too _ formal — and she could have kicked herself. “Have a pleasant evening.”

Greta’s grin widened, and Hermione wanted to groan. This was insanity. The man who — just months ago she despised with a passion — was now so familiar in her presence, she could comfortably forget he was there. 

And her assistant knew it. 

“Thank you, Ms Granger. I hope your evening is pleasant also.” Greta nodded, her grin still wide. “Good evening, Mr Malfoy.”

“Good evening, Ms Hobbs.” Lucius’ voice was deep — the gravely sound of someone who had been silent for hours. “My apologies for monopolising Ms Granger’s time. I’m sure I’m making your job extremely dull.”

“Oh, not at all, Mr Malfoy,” Greta laughed. “Definitely not dull. Good night.”

The silence seemed to grow as the door closed, the click of the catch louder than it should have been. Hermione kept her eyes on the door, the meaning of Greta’s words hung in the room. 

Hermione had repeatedly cursed Pansy and Ginny, over the last few months. Their ridiculous notion that Lucius Malfoy was her type was becoming less ridiculous as each day passed.

And she hated it.

Hated that he was interested in what she was doing. Hated that he was curious about the translations and her exact process of working through them. 

Hated that he smelled so incredible. 

She’d stared at herself every morning in the mirror, reminding herself that he was a Death Eater. He was cruel, and selfish, and a bigot. But every day that she dealt with him those thoughts would disappear, and she slowly began to see a different man to the one she assumed he was. 

Over the last month, as she worked on the final book, he had insisted on helping. His natural curiosity had intrigued her. She knew him to be well read, but she’d never thought of him as an academic. But he proved his worth, quickly recognising some of the sequences she used, and he began to attempt translations of his own. But most surprisingly, he had not hesitated to ask her to explain what she was doing when he had no clue. 

He would often sit in silence, watching her work, which at first she’d found unnerving. But now his presence was so familiar, she was comfortable enough to work under the heaviness of his gaze without concern. 

“Mr Malfoy,” Hermione began, “I seemed to have lost track of time. I’m sure I’m keeping you.”

She moved to stand but he held up his hand. “Ms Granger, I assure you, I have nowhere to be. Please continue.” He paused. “Unless, that is, you’ve plans of your own.”

“_Ah… _ no… no plans… other than… _ ah… _” Hermione dropped her eyes to the book on her desk, her cheeks heating at the thought of Lucius Malfoy knowing she would prefer to spend her time reading than socialising.

“Your dedication is admirable, Ms Granger.” Lucius stood, returning the armchair to its original state and circled the desk, pulling the chair with him. “Let me assist you and you can leave before midnight.”

“That’s really not necessary, Mr Malfoy.” Hermione kept her eyes trained on the book in front of her, cursing internally that in such a short time he had come to know her so well. “This is almost complete.”

“Yes, I can see our time together is coming to an end.” Lucius nodded towards the book, acknowledging that is was the last of the four that Draco had placed on her desk all those months ago. “Your work has been truly outstanding, Ms Granger.”

“Thank you.” Hermione ducked her head lower, the heat in her cheeks turning to flame at his compliment. “These books have been a dream. I never thought I would ever get the chance to translate anything like them.”

“Well, Draco assured me that you were the only person I should trust to translate them so accurately.” He smiled rather sheepishly. “I certainly hope I’ve not been a hindrance.”

“Oh, of course not,” she replied a little too quickly. “I just hope you’ve not found it too tedious.”

“Not tedious at all,” He assured her. “I’ve rather enjoyed watching you work. Draco was right, you truly are a genius.”

“Draco does have a penchant for exaggerating the truth.”

“Usually, yes. But in this case, no,” Lucius said, and then tapped one finger on the open page in front of her. “What is it that’s plaguing you?”

Hermione turned to face him, her eyes wide. “How did you—”

“You’ve been frowning at that page for almost two hours.” 

_ Shit _.

Two hours. He must have been bored out of his brain.

“It wasn’t making sense.” She sighed. “So I went over it several times just to be sure.”

“And…?”

“I’ve heard something similar to the passage I’ve just translated.” Hermione rubbed at her forehead. “Sirius said something like it to Harry once, but I wasn’t aware that he was able to read Elvish runes.”

“We don’t all reveal our full talents, Ms Granger. I’m sure you have… many talents of your own that only a few are privileged to have experienced.”

_ What the hell? _

Hermione peered sideways at him. The clear innuendo in his tone caught her off guard. Was he testing her? Had Pansy encouraged him? Hermione would kill her if she had.

She chose to ignore his comment and continued.

“The entire translation centres around the light and dark within all creatures on the planet, how they choose to act upon it, and the effects those choices cause.” Hermione winced; Lucius’ comment was innuendo, her finding was almost a direct comparison to his life. 

“Interesting.” Lucius hummed. “It would appear that the ancient elves were much wiser than we were aware. And Sirius said this?”

“_Ah _, yeah.” Hermione glanced quickly at him and then ran her finger along the text she was referring to. “Yes, right here. It says—“

And then it happened. 

He leaned closer, peering over her shoulder, and pressed his hand against her lower back.

Her breath caught, and her spine stiffened.

He’d sat beside her on many occasions as she explained what she was doing, but during those times he’d keep a polite distance — their arms had never even touched. 

But this — his hand on her back — this was deliberate. And the brush of his thumb as it drew tiny circles over her shirt made it more so. 

Hermione stood quickly, stepping away from him, needing some distance. 

“Ms Granger?” Lucius stood.

“You touched me,” Hermione blurted. “Why did you do that?”

“Because, Ms Granger—” He stepped closer, his hand coming up slowly to cup her jaw “—I have wanted to touch you for weeks.” 

She should have been screaming at him, should have been shoving him away. But she simply stared at him, unable to move. 

“Weeks?”

“Yes,” Lucius’ voice dropped low, his thumb gently brushing over her cheek. “For weeks, Ms Granger, I've sat in this office and watched you, and each day I’ve forced myself to not touch you. To not frighten you.”

Hermione ‘s jaw dropped and she let out a tiny squeak.

“It’s the last thing I want… to frighten you. I do, however, want one thing.” Lucius’ other hand came up to frame her face. “Ms Granger. May I kiss you?”

She nodded; it was all she could do, she was almost hypnotised by his gaze. His hands on her skin had caused a heat in her body that she wasn’t expecting, and the sudden need to allow him his request was overwhelming.

Very slowly, Lucius threaded his fingers into the tangle of curls surrounding her face, sweeping her unruly hair back and bending low. He paused, staring first into her eyes, before dropping his gaze to her mouth. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips and she felt the warm huff of his breath as he sighed, closing the last inch between them and pressing his lips to hers.

It wasn’t fireworks or shooting stars. No. It was so much more. 

The gentle way he cradled her head. The slow movement of his lips against hers. The warmth of his body as she pressed her palms against his chest. 

She was lost. 

She’d kissed a few men in her life, but none of them had kissed her like this. This kiss was gentle and calm, almost sweet. But an undeniable feeling of longing floated just beneath the surface and threatened to spill out when his lips parted just enough to suck on her bottom lip. 

Hermione sighed, _ Oh, this man could kiss. _

There was no urgency, no rush, just the lingering press of his mouth, the assured strokes of his tongue, the gentle caress of his fingertips against her scalp. 

She slid one palm up his chest, the feather-soft tips of his hair brushing softly over her skin as she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck. 

He groaned at her touch and pressed his lips harder to hers, his tongue sweeping through her mouth. She could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath her hand, the wild beat telling her just how much this was affecting him. 

Her own heart stumbled when he pulled away, his hands still holding her, their heavy breathing the only sounds in the still air of her office. Neither spoke as she looked up to meet his eyes, so incredibly blue, so warm and soft, and full of something deeper, something that looked like desire.

That couldn’t be right. This man hated her, hated everything about her. He could not be interested in her… not in _ that _ way. _ Could he? _

But he had just kissed her. Had kissed her in a way that told her, _ yes _, he most definitely wanted more. 

Hermione stepped back. _ What the hell was she doing? _

This was Lucius Malfoy. She despised him.

Lucius reached for her, “Herm—“ 

“Mr Malfoy...” She took another step back. “I’ve… just remembered, I do have plans. So I… _ uh… _ must say good night.”

Lucius’ gaze lingered on her face and she had to look away. His hurt expression was almost too much and the tingling feeling in her lips told her she would surely change her mind if she continued to look at him.

He cleared his throat but his voice held a tone of disappointment when he spoke. “Very well, Ms Granger, I do not wish to keep you from your… plans. Good evening.”

Hermione didn’t look up until she heard the quiet click of the door closing, and her stomach actually sank at the sound. She would have preferred he slam the door, would have preferred his anger than the hurt she had glimpsed in his eyes. 

She pressed her fingers to her lips. They were swollen, and still tingling from his kiss. Her face felt flushed, her blood too warm as her racing heart pumped it through her body. And her mind was spinning with the revelation that Lucius Malfoy had left her office hurt and rejected, and the guilt of her actions was already plaguing her. 

Guilt that she’d hurt him, not that she’d kissed him. His kiss was incredible, not at all what she had been expecting from a man would would have happily taken her and her friends lives just a few years ago. 

“Fuck.” She swore quietly into her now empty office. She wasn’t supposed to feel guilt when it came to Lucius Malfoy. She wasn’t supposed to be berating herself because she hurt his feelings. She should have been pleased that her rejection had stung, that he’d walked away feeling just a fragment of how he’d once made her feel. But, she wasn’t _ that _ person. 

She wasn’t spiteful, nor was she comfortable with the fact she hated him. She didn’t want to hate — or worse, humiliate — anyone.

And she certainly didn’t want to hate the man who had just kissed her in a way that made her body throb with need and wish for the kind of pleasure she was sure only he could give her. 

She stared at the door. With a single kiss, Lucius Malfoy had taken her utter dislike of him and turned it into pure desire. 

No Arithmancy, or flapping wings, or soggy tea leaves in the bottom of a cup could have predicted what had just happened. 

Nor could they have predicted that she wanted it to happen again. 

* * *

Hermione snapped her head up from her book as a loud knock startled her. It was a rarity, a knock on her front door. Her friends usually stepped out of the Floo unannounced, she couldn’t ever remember a time any of them knocked on her door. 

She placed her book on the coffee table and glanced at the clock, frowning. 8 p.m. Not particularly late, but late enough when she wasn’t expecting company. 

She picked up her wand from the table and frowned again as another knock sounded.

“Just a minute,” she called and then mentally kicked herself. She could have snuck down the hallway and checked the peephole, and disappeared back into her living room without having to acknowledge whomever was on the other side of her door. That was impossible now.

She placed her wand on the hallway table, realising how ridiculous she would look opening the door holding what amounted to a stick — especially if the person knocking wasn’t magical — and looked through the peephole. 

“Shit.” Hermione cursed under her breath, “shitshitshit!”

He was here. On her doorstep. Waiting for her to open the door. She couldn’t see his face — he was standing off to the right — but the blond hair was unmistakable. 

She took a breath, exhaled slowly, and opened the door.

Her jaw dropped open. Lucius Malfoy was standing on her stoop, looking less like Lucius Malfoy than she had ever thought possible. Gone were the flowing robes and the harsh glare, instead the man standing before her looked like he’d stepped off a Witch Weekly ‘What to Wear This Season’ photo shoot. 

He was dressed in what Hermione assumed was his idea of casual wear — charcoal trousers, with a matching Mandarin-collared waistcoat over a black, textured dress shirt. His hair was smooth and fell loosely across his shoulders; the cane which held his wand was nowhere to be seen. 

Instead in his hand were four blood-red tulips, held together with a simple gold ribbon — Gryffindor colours to anyone else — but knowing just how well read this man was, the symbolism was not lost on her. 

Tulips were not only her favourites, they symbolised perfect or everlasting love. 

“Ms Granger, I apologise for the lateness of my—“ He stopped abruptly “—I… _ ah _, do hope I’m not… interrupting your evening.”

Hermione watched as he took in her. Her feet were bare and her hair was loosely pulled back from her face in a messy knot atop her head. Her tiny sleep shorts and well-worn hoodie — with its frayed cuffs and open zipper revealing her thin tank beneath — were a far cry from his own immaculate attire. 

“No, I was just—” she frowned at him, “How do you know where I live?”

A guilty grimace wrinkled his face. “Ms Parkinson may have assisted me in finding you.”

“Ms Park—” Hermione clenched her jaw and spoke through gritted teeth, “_ Pansy _ told you?”

“She seemed eager to do so.” He held up his hand in a gesture asking her to let him explain. “I mentioned to Draco that I’d not seen you for several days — Ms Hobbs informed me that you were ill — and I asked Draco to contact Ms Parkinson on my behalf to enquire as to your health. She suggested I visit your home.”

Hermione’s cheeks turned pink. 

She’d not been sick at all, and he knew it. She’d avoided work for three days following their kiss, not wanting to have to see him, wanting to avoid the awkward situation that she now found herself in. It wasn’t the most productive way to resolve what had happened, but after just that one kiss her mind had been reeling. 

One kiss and this man was all she’d been able to think about. 

One freaking kiss. 

“Ms Granger, I don’t wish to inconvenience you, but I simply ask if I may speak to you.”

“I don’t think that’s—” 

“_Please _, Ms Granger.” His plea surprised her. She didn’t imagine Lucius Malfoy as someone who would beg for anything. “Just a few minutes, that’s all I ask.”

Hermione bit her lip. The one remaining cell in her body that hadn’t been affected by Lucius Malfoy was screaming at her to slam the door and not look back. But that one cell was easy to ignore, and she stepped back to let him into her home. 

“Thank you, Ms Granger.” He smiled and offered the flowers to her. 

“Did Pansy tell you these are my favourites?” She took the flowers and closed the door.

“No, she made no mention of it.” His eyes darted to the pictures of her parents on the wall. “Roses are too obvious, daisys are too common. Tulips are both elegant and strong. A true representation of yourself, Ms Granger.”

“I…” Hermione stared at him, “...come in.”

She sensed Lucius’ eyes on her as he followed her down the hallway, but she refused to look back. He was probably staring at her arse in the tiny shorts, at her bare legs.

At her Muggle house. 

Her house wasn’t small, but his presence inside it made it feel like a shoebox. And she could only imagine what he was thinking. 

He was accustomed to opulence and space, to the grandeur that was Malfoy Manor. Her home was an eclectic mix of filled to the brim bookshelves, secondhand furniture, and her parents antiques. She couldn’t bear to stay in her childhood home — not after her parents’ memories were wiped, leaving her with no real family. She sold their house and most of their furniture — keeping just their favourite antique pieces — and bought the house she now lived in. It was old, but it had character, and her eclectic choices suited the coziness she had created. 

She found a vase in the kitchen, taking longer than it should have to fill it with water and arrange the four simple flowers, and ignoring the tension as it grew thicker with each passing second. 

Her heart had sped up, and the flapping butterflies in her stomach almost had her laughing. 

The Butterfly Effect indeed. 

Finally, Lucius cleared his throat. “I have no regrets, Ms Granger, over what happened between us, and given the chance, I would do the same again. I do, however, regret that I may have hurt you once more.” 

Hermione turned to face him, placing the vase on the small island counter that separated them. “You didn’t hurt me,” she said quietly. “I was just confused.”

Lucius nodded. “And I understand why.”

“Years of hatred, Mr Malfoy.” Hermione folded her arms over her chest. “Snide remarks, cruel jibes, unwarranted comments about my blood. Is this a game to you? Am I some kind of bet between your Death Eater friends? Who can sink the lowest?” 

“You are not a game, Ms Granger.” Lucius tugged nervously on the collar of his waistcoat. “The war taught me many lessons, one of which was who was playing me.”

His meaning was clear; his ex-wife and closest friend had both played and humiliated him. 

“So, you did what you did because...?”

He smiled. “Because, Ms Granger, you are more intriguing than anyone I have ever known. Your talents have proven my former beliefs to be erroneous, and your empathy and forgiveness towards those who wronged you is much more than most deserve.”

“I’ve not forgiven everyone.” 

“I’m well aware.” He stared straight at her. “But that does not change the way I feel.”

Hermione reached absently for the tulip closest to her, her thumb and forefinger gently rubbing the delicate petals. Her sleeve slipped along her forearm, revealing the end of her scar. She winced — her eyes flicking quickly to Lucius, and then back to her arm — and pulled the cuff back over her wrist.

Lucius stepped around the counter, and stood close beside her — close enough for her to feel his body heat, smell the now familiar scent of his skin.

“It should never have happened.” He lifted her arm, slowly sliding her sleeve to her elbow, exposing the scar she kept hidden. He ran his fingers lightly over the word and she sucked in a sharp breath, shocked at the gentleness of his touch. Shocked at the look of distress on his face. 

_ Mudblood_. 

It was what he had always thought of her, had always called her. He had allowed it to happen. He had not even attempted to stop his crazed sister-in-law as the word was etched into her arm.

Hermione watched his fingers as they traced each letter, slowly, deliberately. Carefully. 

“It should never have happened,” he repeated, the pain of his own thoughts evident as he looked up at her. “I am sorry for this… and for so much more.”

“Is that why you kissed me?” Her voice was breathy, his proximity had set her heart racing, his touch taking her straight back to the feel of his lips on hers just days ago. 

“I had my heart eviscerated, Ms Granger, and I told myself I would never allow that to happen again. But, being in your presence, watching you… I tried to fight it, tried to pretend that I wasn’t feeling anything more than a deep admiration for you.” His thumb traced over the scar on her arm again, but his eyes never left hers. “But I was lying to myself.” 

“What was the lie?” The words were a shaky exhale. 

“The lie, Ms Granger, was that I could continue to live without you in my life. ”

Hermione’s already racing heart threatened to explode through her chest. 

And then, he was looming over her, his body just inches away from hers. She tilted her head back to look up at him — she had to, he was so tall, and so close — and instantly his fingertips pressed lightly to her throat, causing her skin to tighten and a shuddering breath to escape her. 

He shifted, pressing her against the counter, and curling his hand around the back of her neck, the warmth of his fingers seeping into her skin. 

Hermione reached her fingers to his mouth. “You kissed me, Lucius.”

“I kissed you, Hermione,” his voice wavered as he finally whispered her name. 

She traced the fine dip in the centre of his top lip. “Will you do it again?”

Lucius cupped her face, his thumbs drawing circles on her cheeks, and pressed a single kiss on her forehead, then the tip of her nose, and then each corner of her mouth. “This is… you are... all I’ve been able to think about.”

His mouth covered hers, groaning in relief as he pulled her close. Their lips moved and tongues stroked, and her arms wound around his neck, holding him tightly as they reacquainted themselves. Hermione sighed as the memories of his lips, his hands, the heat of his body, became real once more. 

This time, however, he wasn’t gentle. He devoured her mouth, nipped at her tongue, dropped his hand to her behind, pulling her against his evident arousal. She responded willingly, grinding against him and relishing the tight moan that pulled his mouth from hers. 

“I don’t want to rush you, Hermione, you can say no and we’ll go no further,” he breathed. “But, I want you. May I have you?”

* * *

Lucius almost toppled them over as she Apparated them without warning to her bedroom. And he barely had time to take in the room before her hands went to work on the buttons on his waistcoat. 

He gripped her wrists. “Hermione, are you sure?”

Hermione met his eyes, which still held the desire she saw just days ago, but now they held an unexpected vulnerability. She pulled her hands from his grip and stepped back, smiling at his confused expression. 

“I want this, Lucius.” She dragged down the zipper of her hoodie, shrugging it from her shoulders and dropping it to the floor. Her hands went to the hem of her tank and everything seemed to slow around them. She saw the bob in his throat as he swallowed thickly, heard the heavy inhale of his breath as she lifted the thin fabric over her head, revealing her naked torso beneath. 

She tucked her thumbs into the waistband of her cotton shorts, watching as his eyes grew darker, the piercing blue swirling with a heavy grey, making him look less vulnerable and more dangerous. 

Her shorts hit the floor and she kicked them away. “I want this. And I want you.”

He was on her in a heartbeat, her naked body pressed against his still clothed one, his mouth pressed hard against hers, swallowing her surprised gasp. 

He lifted her, dropping her onto the bed, and she scrambled backwards, watching as he shed his clothes with a speedy efficiency. Pleasure surged through her as each piece of perfectly tailored cloth was removed from his body, revealing his bare chest, strong arms, the curve of his hip, the trail of blond hair that led to…

“_Holy shit_!” 

The words were out before Hermione could stop them. But, _ holy shit. _Impressive wasn’t the word to describe him. 

Lucius grinned, crawling over her on all fours, his eyes raking over her and building the heat already surging through her. “That’s quite the compliment, my little lion, are sure you still want this?”

Hermione didn’t respond — couldn’t respond — as his hand slipped between her legs and stroked the sensitive skin on her inner thigh. 

“So fucking beautiful,” he growled and she jolted at his rough tone. His propriety, it seemed, had disappeared, and the fire she saw in his eyes had her nipples tightening in anticipation.

His hand moved higher, higher, and her breath caught when his fingers brushed over her soft curls — feather-light, barely there — his eyes never leaving hers as he stroked.

“What’s your pleasure, little lion?” His voice lowered to a husky murmur as his fingers dipped lower, tracing along the seam of her sex. “Do you like it slow?” 

He drew his fingers back to the thatch of curls and she whimpered, grabbing his wrist and forcing his hand back between her legs. 

“No,” she breathed, “Not slow.”

“_Hmm _,” he hummed, “Not slow?”

He dipped his head and swiped his tongue first at one nipple, then at the other, at the same time he parted her folds, slipping two fingers deep inside her. His thumb drew tight circles over her clit, pressing down hard and Hermione cried out at the sparks of pleasure spreading across her skin. 

“Hard and fast?” Lucius growled, his teeth biting down on her nipple. “Is that what you’d prefer? Do you like it rough, my lion? Would you like me fucking you from behind, my handprint on your sweet arse?”

She moaned, her head rolling back and her eyes closing when he flicked his thumb against her clit and quickened the movements of his fingers. He teased and tormented, his teeth scraping roughly over her nipple, his fingers moving faster and faster, until her entire body tensed, bowing off the bed, and she came apart. Her cry was sharp, and she shuddered against his hand. 

“Hmm,” Lucius hummed again, his fingers still sliding through her dripping core. “That was exquisite. Do you have more for me, little lion? How many times will you fall?”

He kissed her neck, the hollow at the base of her throat, and her breath hitched as he slipped his fingers from her. He moved down her body, kissing one hip and then the other, his big hands pressing against her thighs and spreading her wide. 

Hermione lifted her head and watched as he leaned down, closing his eyes and inhaling her scent. 

“What do you taste like?” Lucius glanced up at her. “Are you sweet? Or do you taste like sin?”

Hermione reached down and ran a single finger through her sodden core. Lucius raised an eyebrow in wonder, then groaned when she traced his lips. He sucked her finger into his mouth, tasting her.

“Fucking hell.” 

He pressed his palms to her inner thighs, holding her open and diving down, burying his face in the soaked slip of skin between her thighs. 

Hermione’s hands gripped his head, bucking against his mouth, and crying out with each pass of his hot tongue. He sucked and nibbled, his own groans mingling with hers, as he drove her towards that blissful edge once more. 

She ground against him, her movements frenzied, not caring that she was fucking his face, or that she was embarrassingly close again. But he didn’t seem bothered. He seemed to be enjoying her complete abandonment, encouraging her with his mouth, his tongue licking and tasting, his lips sucking, his teeth biting. 

Her second orgasm barrelled over her, and she cried out his name, her fingers digging into his hair, holding him against her. He murmured against her — _ perfect _ — and continued to slowly trace her with his tongue until she groaned and shoved him away. 

Lucius kissed his way back up her body, settling over her, and sucking on the sensitive skin beneath her ear. 

“Sin,” he whispered. “You, my little lion, taste like pure sin.”

He lifted off her, reaching between them to grip his length, rubbing the thick head over her swollen clit, and coating himself with the remnants of her twin orgasms. 

“Are you ready?” His rough voice was suddenly tender, his fiery eyes no longer dangerous. His concern touched her, and she lifted her hand to caress his cheek.

“I’m ready.” 

He looked down between them, watching as he slowly entered her body. “Sweet Circe, _ fuck _.” His words were forced out between gritted teeth, and Hermione sucked in a breath. He was barely inside her and already she felt so full.

Just a few inches in, he began to pull back out, repeating the movement, slowly stretching her body wider with each deeper thrust. He cupped a hand behind her thigh, lifting her leg, and groaning as he finally sank fully inside her. 

“Lucius…” Hermione’s inner walls pulsated around his thick erection and she gripped his hips, asking him silently to give her body a chance to get used to him. 

“All right?” He whispered, holding still above her. 

She nodded and her eyes fluttered closed — it felt so good to be completely filled, completely possessed by this man. 

“This is what I’ve wanted,” he whispered. “This is all I’ve thought about. You’re all I _ ever _ think about. How you would taste, how you would feel around me. How tight, how warm…”

Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth to hers, soft and sweet, and the butterflies took flight in her stomach once more. 

She rolled her hips tentatively beneath him, sliding along the solid length of him and he pulled back, watching the tiny movements as she slowly adjusted to his size. 

She opened her eyes as he began to move. Slow at first, still waiting for her to be completely ready, then speeding up slightly when her slick walls began to relax around him. 

“_Ohh… _ that… that feels…” Hermione’s words were lost as his hips pressed down on hers, drawing a low moan from her.

“I know… it’s so fucking good… so deep in you...” He continued to take his time, just a slow, sensual glide over her, inside her, his body in no hurry to push her to that blissful edge. “Look at you… look at how beautiful you are.” 

Hermione wound her legs around his hips, rocking back and forth, moving in perfect unison with him as he deepened his thrusts. His quiet grunts and breathy exhales, his fragmented words — how good she felt, how perfect she was, how much he needed her — tumbled out of his mouth, a low rumble of sounds whispered into the air between them, affecting her as much as the thick length of him stroking heavily inside her. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in his hair twisting the long strands around her fingers and tugging his face to hers. Their mouths met, tongues tangled, and Lucius began to move faster.

The headboard knocked against the wall in a steady rhythm, damp skin slid together, and Lucius unleashed, driving into her. Hermione writhed beneath him, clenching around his solid length, tiny gasps escaping her with every push of him into her. 

“That’s it,” Lucius groaned, struggling to hold back his own release. “You’re right there… Hermione, let go, you’re right there.”

Her orgasm flashed beneath her skin, she was shaking and sweaty. Her mouth fell open, and her spine arched, her thighs clamped hard against his sides, and a blinding pleasure, the likes of which she’d never felt before, rolled over her. 

Lucius slowed his movements, his hands braced on the mattress, resting on either side of her head. Every muscle in his body was tense as he watched her as she fell, as he felt her pulse and clench like a fist around him. 

Hermione shuddered, her fingers digging into his hips as the aftershocks of her third orgasm ricocheted around her body, sparking like fireworks under her skin. Her breath came out in jagged pants and her body slowly began to come down from her high, just as his own body began to shudder. 

“_Fuuuuck _,” he moaned as he picked up his pace again, pumping into her, faster and faster, until pleasure flooded his veins and he swelled almost painfully inside her. Her name sounded rough on his lips, a long groan of relief poured from his chest, and she felt the warmth spill repeatedly from his body and fill hers. 

He collapsed onto her, his face pressing into her neck, breathing hard, his lips pressing hot, lazy kisses to her warm skin. 

“Holy shit.” She breathed, her hands sliding up his sweaty back, and Lucius snorted inelegantly into her neck. 

“Indeed,” he mumbled, still sliding lazily in and out of her, still hard as steel, his body not ready to leave the sensation of her hot, pulsating walls. He lifted his head. “You may have destroyed me, little lion.”

She ran her fingers through his now unruly mane and smiled, “I’d say sorry, but we know that’s not true.”

Lucius kissed her, long and deep. “I’m yours, you know.” He smiled down at her. “My heart, my body, everything. It’s yours.”

“Hmmm,” She hummed and traced her finger along one fine cheekbone. “Lucius Malfoy, I think I’m going to like owning your arse.”

* * *

“_Hermione_! Are you ready?”

Hermione’s eyes flew open and she bolted upright, the hazy feeling of sleep still clouding her brain. A warm hand came to rest on her hip, and the previous night came flooding back. 

Lucius Malfoy. In her bed. Doing all manner of—

“_Hermione_!” Harry’s voice yelled up the stairs. “Where are you?”

“Fuck!” Hermione threw the covers off and scrambled from the bed, turning to see Lucius smiling sleepily at her.

“Did you actually have plans this morning?” His voice was drowsy, but she could hear the amusement lacing his sleepy drawl. 

“Yes, brunch with my friends,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “And you made me forget.”

His sleepy smiled turned into a smug grin and she glared at him. 

“_Hermione_?” Harry yelled again.

“One minute,” Hermione hollered back, “I’ll be one minute!”

She grabbed her tank and shorts, quickly dressing, pausing when Lucius sat up.

“Do you need me to help you explain?”

“No. You stay right here. I’ll deal with this.”

She grabbed her hoodie, wrestling it on and zipping it up as she left the room, closing the door behind her. She took a deep breath — not thinking about the soreness between her thighs or the heavy ache in muscles she’d not used in a while — and made her way slowly down the stairs. 

“You’re not ready?” Harry looked surprised. “How are you not ready?”

“Sorry.” Hermione gave him a weak smile, “I overslept.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Hermione, you never oversleep. You never forget anything.”

Hermione glanced at Hannah, who was standing beside Harry, her eyes widening, a slow, knowing smile creeping across her face. 

“Maybe we should just go.” Hannah touched Harry’s arm. “Hermione can just meet us all there.”

“No,” Harry groaned and sat at the counter. “We’ll wait.”

“It’s not necessary, Harry, and you’ll be late if you wait for me. You should go.” Hermione fought to keep the panic from her voice, she needed them to leave before Lucius ignored her command to stay in her bed and— 

“Hermione?” Lucius spoke quietly from behind her. “Is everything okay here?”

If she’d not been so mortified, the expressions on her two friends faces would have made her laugh. They were both staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the man who had just stepped into her kitchen. 

Hermione had to stifle a groan as his hand slid across her back, curled around her hip, and he came to stand behind her. 

“Mr Potter, Ms…?” 

“Abbott. Hannah.” Hannah managed to compose herself, while Harry made a choking sound

“Ms Abbott,” Lucius said calmly. “Hannah. I am sorry if I’ve held Hermione up.” 

“Not at all, Mr Malfoy.” Hannah’s grin grew wider, “We’re sorry for the intrusion. We should probably stop dropping in on her unannounced.”

“_Ah_, but am I correct to assume, this wasn’t an unscheduled visit?” Lucius’ fingers tightened on Hermione’s hip and she couldn’t help but press her back against him. 

Hannah smiled and flapped her hand at him. “Oh, it’s fine. We can do brunch any day. Harry? We should go.”

Harry was still staring over Hermione’s shoulder, his expression was less shocked and more perplexed. 

“Hermione,” Harry said slowly. “Lucius Malfoy is standing in your kitchen at nine in the morning with his arms around you. Did you want to explain what’s going on?”

Hermione finally looked over her shoulder at Lucius. He’d completely re-dressed — looking like the put-together man who showed up on her doorstep and nothing like the man who had spent the night turning her into a boneless puddle of goo. He was smiling at her and her heart fluttered. 

“Hermione?”

“It’s okay, Harry.” She returned her gaze to her friend, “Lucius—“

“Lucius!?” Harry stood and slammed his palms on the counter. “_ Lucius _? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Mr Potter—“ Lucius began but Hermione stopped him.

“Mind yourself, Harry,” Hermione warned. “Lucius is welcome in my home… and in my bed.”

“Your… _ bed _?” Harry spluttered. “Hermione… how long…?”

“Last night, Harry, was our first night together. And now, instead of sending an owl with a polite message regarding my absence from brunch and spending the morning in bed with him, I have to listen to you holler at me.” Hermione glowered at him. “Just like when you ranted about Ginny and Pansy, this is _ not _ your business.”

“Harry, Hermione is right.” Hannah placed a firm hand on her fiancé’s shoulder, “Now, let’s go.”

“But—“ Harry began to protest, but Hannah stopped him with a withering glare.

"Hermione, Lucius, we’re sorry. _ Both _ of us.” Hannah’s smile returned. “Lucius, we hope to see you again… maybe a little less awkwardly next time.”

Lucius chuckled. “And I would return the sentiments, Hannah.”

Hannah all but dragged Harry to the Floo, smiling apologetically as she shoved him inside. 

“I think Mr Potter is less than impressed.” Lucius pressed his lips to the side of her throat. “Should I be concerned?”

Hermione shook her head. “He lost his shit when he learned Ginny and Pansy were together. But, Pansy ripped him to shreds, and—” she shrugged “—now he meets them regularly for brunch, so I think you’ll be okay… eventually.” 

“Are you wanting to join your companions?” Lucius circled her waist, holding her tightly. 

She shook her head. “No.”

“Are you sure? I’ll wait for you here. I truly don’t mind.” His hands slipped beneath her clothes, sliding up her stomach, and stopping at the curves of her breasts. 

“I think I have a reasonable excuse to skip it this time.” She sighed and dropped her head back to his shoulder. “It wasn’t a lie, Lucius, what I told Harry. You are welcome in my home... and in my bed.”

“I do like the sound of that.” His hands inched higher, covering her breasts and squeezing gently. Hermione leaned back into him, but a flicker of something outside the window caught her eye. She lifted her head and frowned. 

“Hermione?” Lucius relaxed his grip on her breasts. “What is it?”

She shook her head and huffed out a laugh. A butterfly with vibrant blue wings was perched on the sill, fluttering against the glass.

She turned in Lucius’ arms, smiling at the confused look on his face. She pulled his face towards hers, her lips hovering a breath away from his. 

“Divination or Arithmancy, or an alternative Muggle theory,” she murmured. “None of them could have predicted you.”

**Author's Note:**

> My first solo Lumione wouldn't have happened without the help of:
> 
> [LaBelladoneX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaBelladoneX/pseuds/LaBelladoneX)  
[MrsRen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/pseuds/MrsRen)  
[coyg_81](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyg_81/pseuds/coyg_81)  
[CuppaTea90](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuppaTea90/pseuds/CuppaTea90)
> 
> Thank you all for reading and reviewing this for me, and for showering me with more love than I truly deserve xx


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